She drops her hand onto Cosima's, squeezing once in apology before she takes it back again. "I know." Sometimes the job has to come first.
But to get to it, sitting back on her heels, she sighs. Rubbing her cheek accidentally leaves a smudge of dirt on her skin near her nose. "I'm not sure. It's been four years now and I haven't... It hasn't ever happened again. It's good, of course, I don't want it to happen again, but I feel like I'm waiting for it. Like I can't relax."
She nods, sitting back on her heels for a moment. "I get that, for sure. Four years is a while, and you've certainly been through a lot of extreme stress in that time. Do you remember any particular trigger, from before?"
The two commonly known triggers from Cosima's home world clearly aren't in play, at least. But it's certainly not an area where she admits to expertise, even after looking into it some following their earlier conversation on the topic. So: Work the problem.
"... No," she says, voice lowering. They're sitting near to each other here outside and she can afford — has to — be quieter. "I've only turned once, when it happened for the first time. Not since. I think I told you that but I don't think I ever fully explained the situation to you."
She is being coy. Gela knows she didn't say a word past what she had to at the time, in Cosima's office. She is staring at the ground, the bit of weed she was supposed to be pulling. "I'm... ready to, if you think it will help."
"Hard to know, but it very well could. I don't want to press you, but if you're ready to talk about it... I'd be honored for you to trust me with that." She shifts from sitting on her heels to cross-legged on the ground, suggesting less of a propensity to get up or move away. "And if we can put your mind at ease or just give you a better idea of how it works, I want that for you."
"Yes." It's an odd space to tell the whole story in and in the same way almost perfect, because Gela has something to do with her hands while she talks; she sinks them both into the dirt in earnest now and begins to scoop a weed out, collecting roots with the dirt and sifting them out with her fingers.
"Okay." Okay. Her voice is still quiet, mostly steady. "The first time — the only time I've ever turned, it was against my will. Somebody from the Mortalitasi changed me into one using magic and I don't really know why." They talked to her about it that day they brought her back into herself but everything was blurred and so confusing. She doesn't remember it well: only the taste of blood in her mouth and an urge to run. "But I was stuck that way for a long time. And I wasn't myself, I had no control."
She's pulled up some plant with the weed. Hastily she untangles, pushes the plant back down into the spot where it was and cups dirt around it, tamps it back down. "There were others. I wasn't the only one he experimented with. I think there was," she shuts her eyes tight suddenly, "Three or maybe four."
"I'm so sorry that happened to you," is quiet and feelingly said. She hesitates for a moment, and it may be clear why in a moment. (She doesn't want to make this about herself.) Still, it feels important to say: "I know what it feels like to be someone else's experiment. Both where I'm from and here. It's not the same as what happened to you, but believe when I say ... it never becomes okay, but it also. It can scar over, eventually. Years later. I'm not saying nothing ever rips it open, god knows. But it changes, even if it doesn't go away."
She's paused in the weeding, watching Gela for a moment. Steady rather than horrified or pitying.
"But you have the extra layer of not knowing what's still with you. And that I think we can work on." A breath. "Do you know what happened, to the others who were there with you? Or anything about them?"
But the moment passes. Her fist, at her side, is unclenched. She opens her eyes again but not to look at the ground any more, to watch Cosima as she speaks — and Cosima is looking back at her steadily, which helps with the cold stone that is sitting in the pit of her stomach. The camaraderie, the understanding. She breathes in and says, "I didn't know."
In much the same way that Cosima didn't know about her; they both walk around carrying something huge, telling very few people. "I'm sorry that happened to you too."
As for the others, anybody else who walks around carrying something the weight of which Gela knows all too well, "I'm not sure. We didn't talk much before we couldn't. But they were probably other Nevarrans, same as me. And I may recognise one of them if we passed each other in the street."
"Thanks," genuinely, to Gela's sympathy. "Venatori here, and ... well, if someday you want the story about home, that's only fair. But I don't want to side track us right now." Not because she would hesitate to give Gela her honesty, but because there are more pressing things.
"I only ask about the others because it's possible they've found some more information. Or maybe not, but I imagine they have as much reason as you to want to understand. But if you don't know names or faces, probably too difficult to track down with our current resources, unfortunately." A beat, and then carefully but directly, she asks, "Do you know the name of the Mortalitasi that did it to you? Or anything about them?"
She nods and busies herself with the plants again immediately just to give her hands something to do, fingers pushing into soil so they don't leap to touch or twist into her hair, plucking at curls.
"They could have." Gela can't say she doesn't think about them or remember their faces from time to time. It would be bad to forget them entirely, these people she knows nothing about and is deeply, horrifically linked to anyways, so she remembers on purpose. "But they may not be alive." One of them was very old. Another was very young.
Her expression doesn't shift even though she hesitates before she answers the next question. "I know his name. His whole name — he said it once aloud while we were still in the cages and I repeated it to myself many times to make sure I would know it." All for these few moments, perhaps? She's not sure what Cosima can do with it, but she can still know. "Ferrant Marais."
"OK. Worth knowing. Hasn't come up as far as I know, which is unhelpful if you want to know his movements but good in that, like, Riftwatch wasn't secretly working with a psychopath without knowing it." She'll take that small win. "I can alert Yseult and Rowntree, in case we come across him anywhere. If we do, is it." A pause. "Would you like to know, or do you need to not know? If it comes up."
Gela isn't sure what to think. There's too much to think about right now, Cosima has given her endless what if scenarios she needs to go and imagine in full, heart-stopping detail. Again, she's stopped gardening. When she finds her voice it is soft but still there, still going. "Can I think on that and let you know? You can still alert Yseult and Marcus."
"Yeah, of course. I know I threw a lot at you, just let me know when you've landed on an answer. And like, I don't have any reason to think it's going to come up any time soon, other than that there's been a lot of Riftwatch contact with Nevarra recently. But it's a big country, it's not like it's inevitable we'll hear anything at all."
Cosima seems as if she might reach out, but after a moment she thinks better of it. Still, her voice is soft. "Thank you. I know it wasn't pleasant for me to show up and sour your gardening with these kind of questions. But I really do want to help, if I can."
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But to get to it, sitting back on her heels, she sighs. Rubbing her cheek accidentally leaves a smudge of dirt on her skin near her nose. "I'm not sure. It's been four years now and I haven't... It hasn't ever happened again. It's good, of course, I don't want it to happen again, but I feel like I'm waiting for it. Like I can't relax."
It never goes away.
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The two commonly known triggers from Cosima's home world clearly aren't in play, at least. But it's certainly not an area where she admits to expertise, even after looking into it some following their earlier conversation on the topic. So: Work the problem.
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She is being coy. Gela knows she didn't say a word past what she had to at the time, in Cosima's office. She is staring at the ground, the bit of weed she was supposed to be pulling. "I'm... ready to, if you think it will help."
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"Okay." Okay. Her voice is still quiet, mostly steady. "The first time — the only time I've ever turned, it was against my will. Somebody from the Mortalitasi changed me into one using magic and I don't really know why." They talked to her about it that day they brought her back into herself but everything was blurred and so confusing. She doesn't remember it well: only the taste of blood in her mouth and an urge to run. "But I was stuck that way for a long time. And I wasn't myself, I had no control."
She's pulled up some plant with the weed. Hastily she untangles, pushes the plant back down into the spot where it was and cups dirt around it, tamps it back down. "There were others. I wasn't the only one he experimented with. I think there was," she shuts her eyes tight suddenly, "Three or maybe four."
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She's paused in the weeding, watching Gela for a moment. Steady rather than horrified or pitying.
"But you have the extra layer of not knowing what's still with you. And that I think we can work on." A breath. "Do you know what happened, to the others who were there with you? Or anything about them?"
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But the moment passes. Her fist, at her side, is unclenched. She opens her eyes again but not to look at the ground any more, to watch Cosima as she speaks — and Cosima is looking back at her steadily, which helps with the cold stone that is sitting in the pit of her stomach. The camaraderie, the understanding. She breathes in and says, "I didn't know."
In much the same way that Cosima didn't know about her; they both walk around carrying something huge, telling very few people. "I'm sorry that happened to you too."
As for the others, anybody else who walks around carrying something the weight of which Gela knows all too well, "I'm not sure. We didn't talk much before we couldn't. But they were probably other Nevarrans, same as me. And I may recognise one of them if we passed each other in the street."
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"I only ask about the others because it's possible they've found some more information. Or maybe not, but I imagine they have as much reason as you to want to understand. But if you don't know names or faces, probably too difficult to track down with our current resources, unfortunately." A beat, and then carefully but directly, she asks, "Do you know the name of the Mortalitasi that did it to you? Or anything about them?"
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"They could have." Gela can't say she doesn't think about them or remember their faces from time to time. It would be bad to forget them entirely, these people she knows nothing about and is deeply, horrifically linked to anyways, so she remembers on purpose. "But they may not be alive." One of them was very old. Another was very young.
Her expression doesn't shift even though she hesitates before she answers the next question. "I know his name. His whole name — he said it once aloud while we were still in the cages and I repeated it to myself many times to make sure I would know it." All for these few moments, perhaps? She's not sure what Cosima can do with it, but she can still know. "Ferrant Marais."
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Gela isn't sure what to think. There's too much to think about right now, Cosima has given her endless what if scenarios she needs to go and imagine in full, heart-stopping detail. Again, she's stopped gardening. When she finds her voice it is soft but still there, still going. "Can I think on that and let you know? You can still alert Yseult and Marcus."
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Cosima seems as if she might reach out, but after a moment she thinks better of it. Still, her voice is soft. "Thank you. I know it wasn't pleasant for me to show up and sour your gardening with these kind of questions. But I really do want to help, if I can."